Too late, Sean told her. For better or worse, this ones ours. He flicked his eyes towards the doorbell.
With a shake of her head, Sally pressed the button, stepping back to be at Seans side a united front for when the door was opened, warrant cards open in their hands.
They heard the rattle of the central lock before the door was opened by a plain woman in her mid-thirties, brown hair tied back in a ponytail like Sallys, her inexpensive grey suit and white blouse the virtual uniform for female detectives. Neither Sean nor Sally had to ask whether she was the mother or the local CIDs representative and she in turn knew what they were and why they were there, but they showed her their warrant cards and introduced themselves anyway.
Morning. DI Sean Corrigan and this is DS Sally Jones Special Investigations Unit, Sean told her, drawing a sideways glance from Sally, who was hearing their new name for the first time.
Special Investigations Unit? the detective asked. Thats a new one on me.
Special Investigations Unit? the detective asked. Thats a new one on me.
Me too, Sally added, making the other detective narrow her eyes.
Were based at the Yard, Sean explained. Its a new thing thats being trialled rapid response to potentially high-profile crimes that sort of thing.
The detective nodded suspiciously before responding. DC Kimberly Robinson, Hampstead CID.
Can we see the parents? Sean asked.
Of course, Robinson answered, but instead of opening the door for them to enter she stepped outside and shut the door to behind her, leaving it slightly ajar. But before you do theres one thing bothering me, she told them in a near whisper. Why has this case been handed over to you? Why has this case been handed over to anyone? Something like this would usually stay with the local CID until we get a ransom demand or she checked the door behind her before continuing until a body turns up. So why are you here so soon?
You know how it is, Sean explained. Your boss gets to hear about something a little different and he tells his boss who tells his boss who tells my boss, whose interest is piqued and before you know it the case lands on my desk and here we are.
Robinson studied him for a while before answering. Fine, she eventually said, easing the door open and stepping inside. Youre welcome to it. Parents are in the kitchen.
Dyou have any background on the parents yet? Sean asked quietly.
Hes thirty-eight, works in the City a broker for Britbank, apparently, she said in a lowered voice, before lowering it even further. Shes a few years younger, a full-time mum, although round here that isnt exactly what it sounds like, if you know what I mean.
Sally and Sean glanced at each other before following Robinson through the hallway, Sally closing the door behind them. She quickly and discreetly swept slightly envious eyes over the halls contents: large, original oil paintings, Tiffany lampshades and polished oak floorboards. Sean also noticed a control panel for an intruder alarm attached to the wall.
As soon as they entered the large contemporary kitchen Sean was making mental notes of what he saw: Mrs Bridgeman pacing around the work area, her husband leaning on the kitchen island watching her but not speaking, while the nanny sat with their young daughter, trying to keep the crying child distracted with small talk and a drink.
Mr and Mrs Bridgeman, Robinson said, these officers are from the Special Investigations Unit, Scotland Yard. I believe theyll be taking over the investigation now.
Why? Celia Bridgeman asked before Sean or Sally could speak, panic lighting her eyes. Has something happened? Have you found him?
Sally could tell she was about to lose it completely. No, Mrs Bridgeman. Nothings changed. Were just here to try and help find George as quickly as we can. Everythings going to be fine, but well have to ask you both some questions if were going to do that.
More questions? Stuart Bridgeman interrupted. Weve already answered all the questions. Now you need to get out there and find our son.
Almost every officer in the borough is out there searching for George, Robinson tried to reassure him, including dogs. Even the police helicopters up and looking.
Sean eyed Bridgeman for a while before considering his response. He felt an instant dislike for the man his carefully groomed hair, golden tan and athletic build, and above all his arrogance, which more than matched his wealth. I can understand your frustration. He managed to sound businesslike. But we really do need to ask you some more questions.
Of course, Celia took over, anything. She wiped the tears away from her eyes with the back of her hand.
I believe you were the one who discovered George was apparently missing, Mrs Bridgeman? Sean asked.
Not apparently, Stuart Bridgeman interrupted again, is missing. Who did you say you were?
Im Detective Inspector Corrigan and this is Detective Sergeant Jones from the Special Investigations Unit.
Special Investigations? Bridgeman asked, distaste etched into his face. What the hell does that mean?
Stuart, his wife stopped him. Youre wasting time.
Bridgeman grudgingly backed down. Ask your questions, Inspector.
When you couldnt find George, what did you do?
I looked everywhere, she told him, shaking as she spoke, involuntarily closing her eyes as she remembered the panic and fear, the feeling of sickness overtaking her body, but I couldnt find him.
Then what?
I checked the windows and doors.
And?
They were all closed and locked all of them.
Even the front door?
Yes, and the front door.
All four locks?
No. Just the top lock.
How come?
Because Caroline had already arrived for work before I discovered George was missing.
Caroline being yourself, he said looking over at the nodding nanny.
I always put the top lock on, she told him, so that the kids cant get out through the front door. Its the only lock they cant reach.
And thats how you found it? he asked, turning back to look at Celia Bridgeman.
Yes, she replied.
Sean considered the nanny for a moment. Had she forgotten to put the top lock on when shed arrived, fastening it later once shed realized her mistake? Was it already too late by then George had slipped out into the street and wandered off, or been taken away? The nanny looked relaxed and calm enough under the circumstances he sensed no guilt or fear in her, even if it was the most logical explanation. But he was picking up on something else a presentiment of foul play that made him consider the entire family for a second. It was impossible to look at them and not be struck by their wealth and privilege and even more so by their beauty. All of them beautiful, including both children. Had that been the flame that had drawn the moth to them?
Stuart Bridgemans voice cut through his thoughts.
This is all we need a wannabe Sherlock bloody Holmes on the case. These stupid questions are a waste of time. You need to stop hiding in the warm and get out on those streets and find our son.
Ignoring Bridgemans rant, Sean directed the next question at him. You werent here last night, Mr Bridgeman, is that right?
I was away on business. You know earning money for my family. I work in the private sector. I have to earn my money, unlike some.
Again Sean let it pass. So, where were you last night?
Why? Am I a suspect in my own sons disappearance?
No. I just need to know where you were.
Fine. I was in Oxford.
You got back quickly, Sean prodded.
I came straight back as soon as I heard. Wouldnt you if your child had gone missing?
What time did you hear?
I dont remember some time before nine.
And when did you get back here?
A little while ago why?
It was ten thirty, Robinson told Sean. Its in the crime-scene log.
That was fast, Sean accused him, through rush-hour traffic.
So I broke a few speed limits what the fuck do I care?
Stuart, please, Celia appealed to him. Youre not helping.
Here we go, Stuart Bridgeman said, shaking his head. I wondered how long it would be before this all became my fault.
Sean didnt have time to referee a domestic. Where did you stay? In Oxford where did you stay?
Bridgeman took several calming breaths before answering. The Old Parsonage Hotel just outside the city centre. Theyll be able to confirm I was there last night.
Sean studied him, in no hurry to fill the uncomfortable silence. Bridgeman could have comfortably booked into his hotel but then come back in the night and taken the boy before returning to Oxford to await his wifes distressed phone call. But why would he want to abduct his own son? He decided not to push that line of questioning not yet.
Im sure we wont be needing to check with the hotel, Mr Bridgeman, he lied. But one things bothering me.
And what would that be? Bridgeman asked, not attempting to disguise his frustration.
I saw an alarm panel as I came through the hallway. I assume its for an intruder alarm.
So? Bridgeman asked.
So, if someone did manage to break into the house, why didnt the alarm go off? Wasnt it set last night?
No, Bridgeman told him, nor any other night since weve been here.
Why not?
Because its the old alarm left here by the previous owners. They cancelled their subscription to the alarm company when we bought the house and I havent got round to having it reactivated yet.
So the house wasnt alarmed? Sean clarified.
No, Bridgeman admitted. But theres an alarm box on the front of the house. You would think that would deter most people from trying to break in.
So you havent been here long then? Sally asked.
No, Celia Bridgeman answered, never taking her accusing eyes off her husband. A little less than three weeks.
Where did you move from? Sally continued.
Primrose Hill.
Any reason for the move? Sean asked.
Camden seemed to be getting closer and closer, Bridgeman explained, and Primrose Hills full of very dull Russian bankers.
Did you change the locks when you moved in? Sean questioned.
No, Bridgeman replied. Who changes the locks when they move into a new house? This is Hampstead, not Peckham. Sean and Sally looked at each other, Sally failing to stop a small grin forming on her lips. The people we bought it off were decent people. In fact, the husband works not far from me in the City. Theyre hardly likely to come back and burgle us, are they?